


Throne of Lies

by _crime lord_ (goddamnit_cherik)



Series: The Heir to the Throne [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime, Don't Judge Me, M/M, Organized Crime, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, also tinsley is totally a sherlock level genius, buzzfeed unsolved - Freeform, like seriously, ricky is a manipulative bastard, tinsley makes all the wrong choices, what are you doing C.C.?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnit_cherik/pseuds/_crime%20lord_
Summary: "He wears strength and darkness equally well, that man has always been half god, half hell."Everyone who was anyone knew who Richard "Ricky" Goldsworth was. The most infamous organized crime boss in L.A. No one knows this more than C.C. Tinsley however. This tired detective will not rest until this murderous crime lord is brought in to the precinct in chains. Unfortunately, the fall is approaching C.C Tinsley. The fall is approaching fast. He will fall. It will feel like flying except with a more permanent destination. I think he will enjoy it. After all, doesn't Sherlock Holmes love chasing James Moriarty? Doesn't he get a certain rush when pursuing a foe of equal or greater wit? I smell an addiction. And I aim to be his dealer.





	Throne of Lies

_The fall. The air tasted like fire and brimstone, whilst his skin felt cool as an arctic breeze. The fall. It felt like adrenaline rushing through his veins like a striking serpent. It smelled of ash freshly dug from his own grave. The fall. It hurt. It hurt like a divorce notice from your lover of twenty years. Like an all-nighter dragging the lids of your eyes shut with every passing heartbeat. Wait.....did Tinsley even get any sleep last night? Is he dead? Maybe we should poke him. Someone get him a coffee for Christ's sake._

_Coffee._

C.C. Tinsley jerked awake from inside his office, a document stuck to his face. He swiped it away in gruff frustration and sleepily squinted at the entrance to his office. A few people were standing there at the door, looking through the window at him. one man whispered to a women wearing an L.A.P.D. officer get up. 

_Oh yeah...I'm at work. Wait, did I fall asleep in the middle of work? Shit Tinsley, you tired bastard._

Suddenly the door opened. Another detective walked in and set down a cup of steaming hot coffee on his desk. His face told Tinsley that he was halfway between amused and annoyed. 

"You really have to get some more rest, Tin Man. We can't have our "best detective" sleeping on the clock." 

"We can't all have a nice family to sing us to sleep at night Andrew. Now bugger off." Andrew only snorted at that remark and slunk out of Tinsley's cluttered office. He gingerly picked up the still-hot coffee cup and sipped from it gratefully. If Tinsley believed in God, he would thank him a thousand times for coffee.

But he didn't have time to thank God a thousand times. He was too busy tracking down California's most notorious crime lord to pray. 

 

 ?

 

Sometimes he wished he _was_ in fact a praying man. But only sometimes. This time was one of those. 

A broken body lay at his feet, a dried circle of blood surrounding its head like a devilish halo. Tinsley fought the urge to recoil at the sight of the cause of death. A single shotgun shot to the stomach and then a final head shot between the eyes. He guessed that the head shot was the cause of the bloody halo. 

A swarm of forensics people surrounded him, but he suppressed any information regarding them. C.C. pushed away any background noise or distractions that would distract him. Then he was alone. 

Alone with the dead man. Then he was alone with a standing dead man. Its empty eyes stared back into his own, slowly filling in with life. The eyes quickly morphed into huge ovals full of shining, glossy fear. Sweat was dripping from its forehead and it gave off the salty smell of stress and panic. 

Tinsley's arm raised. His arm was clenched around a gun specially fitted with a suppressor. His expression remained flat and almost uninterested. A smile twinged at his lips. A man next to Tinsley fired his shotgun and the dead man walking fell back onto the ground with a quiet thump. Tinsley felt his legs move him forward into a position of dominance over the bleeding man. He looked him straight in the rapidly dulling eyes. His mouth moved and spoke words to the crumpled body on the ground. Tinsley couldn't hear his own voice. 

And just as suddenly as the man had jolted back to life, his eyes fell dead again as Tinsley shot him between the eyes with a suppressed bang. 

"So what are we thinkin' Tin man?" 

The voice of one of his supervisors broke through Tinsley's intense thought process and jolted him back to reality jarringly. The grimly peaceful surroundings melted away and he could see the forensics team milling all around him, distracting his senses. The supervisor had put one of his hands on Tinsley's shoulder, grounding him further. 

"Well, one thing of note would be the coldness of this killing. A single shot to the head and stomach. Wasn't done with a knife or anything  _intimate._ Judging from the size of the wounds and the ease with which they were delivered, the killer had no intent for this to be personal. Just business." 

His supervisor turned his head slightly to eyeball the detective. 

"So it was a mob killing then?" 

"Well yes, it appears that way to the untrained eye. It was most likely set up to look like a mob killing; that's why the killer didn't bother to move the body from its original resting place. To lead us to the desired conclusion." 

Tinsley found himself being eyeballed again. 

  "Then what exactly  _was_ this killing then? Why go through all the trouble of making it look like a mob killing?" 

Tinsley fought back a smirk. 

"We cannot presume to know the killers intentions. The only thing we can currently do is ascertain the killer's identity." 

"Well yes that would be ideal Tinsley. But as you can see, the killer left a remarkably clean crime scene. Even forensics is having a hard time finding anything of note."  

This time Tinsley did smirk. 

"That is because they see but do not observe." 

"Don't you dare quote Sherlock at me Tin-Man! Just tell me!" 

Tinsley rolled his eyes at his superior and dropped to his knees next to the corpse. He reached into the victim's suit jacket and grasped the thing he was looking for. 

"This is what you were missing." Tinsley showed the man what he had found. "A leaf painted gold like the sun.  _His_ symbol. Ricky Goddamn Goldsworth." 

His superior grabbed the leaf straight from his hands and examined it with careful, suspicious eyes.

"Ricky Goldsworth? I thought he went off the grid months ago? This could just be a copycat." Tinsley narrowed his eyes in subdued frustration. Why did everyone always assume the smart ones go off the grid?

"It's definitely his. The leaf is the same kind as all his other calling cards of this nature. A copycat wouldn't know of the exact kind of leaf used. And i have a feeling that even if it was a copycat, the real Ricky would have his head for continuing his work without his proper consent. His ego simply won't allow it." 

Tinsley righted himself and rose to his feet confidently. A rush of euphoria struck him suddenly, and he clung to the feeling it gave him with both hands. He always loved demonstrating his intellect to those who would doubt him. 

"That's quite a deduction C.C."

 _Oh,_ there was his first name. Now Tinsley knew he had gotten his attention. 

"Thank you Robert. But now  _I_ have a question for  _you._ Are you going to let me pursue Goldsworth, or are we going to have another San Francisco Incident?" Tinsley felt another strange rush of adrenaline; he quite liked being the dominant one for a change. 

"Fine, fine. You want to go after Goldsworth? Go after him then. But as a friend, I got to tell you...don't let this case consume you. Don't let this become San Francisco all over again."    

 

?

 

 A shining gun equipped with a suppressor lay on a table cluttered with various other ominous items. A man approached the table and slowly ran his hand over it, feeling every object. His hand slowly laid to rest on the gun, and with a fancy flurry of the wrist, the gun was now in its holster. The short man then approached a human sized mirror and studied himself in the mirror. He admired his very neatly combed back hair and delightfully snug fitting three piece suit. He thought himself ready to go out again tonight. Tonight he would share some more of his good work with his favorite detective. 

_I hope he likes this next step. Moreover, I hope he is ready for me._

 

?

 

Tinsley had finished up his work for the day, mostly boring paperwork, and was eager to hit the pub. Time to get wasted and forget the broken bodies he couldn't save! Hooray!

He flung open the bar's door and was instantly blasted by the furious jazz music. Despite his best efforts to be annoyed, he couldn't resist drumming along to the music and tapping his feet to the swinging beat. He plopped himself down onto a stool and tried to catch the bartender's eye.          

 "Ah, C.C. How did I know you'd be here?" 

"Ah Jean, you just know these things. I don't know how you do it." 

The bartender, Jean, smirked at his comment and leaned on the bar slightly. 

"You'll be wanting your usual then eh?" 

"Yes, that would be swell." 

And of course Tinsley's usual was a flood of Devil Springs Vodka prepared just the way he liked it. He downed the Vodka like a pro and barely seemed to stop for air. The bartender had seen him do this many times before, but couldn't help being awed. once Tinsley was finished, he meet his companion's eye. 

"Would you like to try some new vodka that I concocted last night? You'd be the first to try it!" 

Tinsley's eyes brightened and he nodded his head eagerly, already feeling the alcohol's effect. 

"You know i'm always up for something new, Jean!"  As soon as the drink was completed, Tinsley swiped it up and downed the whole glass. The alcohol had a strange taste to it. He liked it, but it tingled on his tongue and gave him a dizzy feeling he couldn't shake. "Oi, Jean? What's in this?" 

Jean smiled. "Aw you know. Some new ingredients and a few old ones. Some guy actually sold me this really cheap stuff to put in it for extra taste. He actually...paid me to take it. Guess he really wants it off his hands. He did mention to me that it might cause the faint of heart to...pass out. I guess you're faint of heart." 

Jean's face was becoming more and more distorted and warped as he kept speaking. The world dimmed and swirled until eventually Tinsley lost his grip and simply fell backwards. The detective didn't notice all the bar's patrons just ignoring him and walking and chatting on. He didn't pay any mind to Jean's smiling face quickly morphing into a Cheshire cat grin as he fell over. He didn't notice any of this because he was out cold the moment he touched the floor. 

 

?

 

  _Cold! Cold water! Why am I being splashed with cold water?_

Tinsley jerked awake with a chilly gasp and a wild-eyed look. He scanned his surroundings quickly and absorbed as much raw data as he could. Clearly the room was very old and made of stone. There was only one door, a wooden one in the center of the opposite wall. It had no window. Two guards in heavy military garb were guarding the exit. They held automatic assault rifles tightly and at the ready. They stiffened slightly when the door creaked slowly open. 

Out stepped a very well dressed man with slicked back hair, dark as a raven. He was short, but not so short that he was not threatening. In fact, his shortness suggested a higher concentration of power, all bunched up and ready to explode outwards. His tux was a stark white, a blindingly off putting sight compared to the dreariness of the stone room. Tinsley's eyes however, were drawn right to his face. His frustratingly handsome face stood out, with those slanted eyes and crooked smile. Tinsley turned his head sideways, almost subconsciously. He couldn't conceal his blatant interest in this new subject. 

"C.C. Tinsley. I bet you know who I am. I won't bore you with unnecessary mind games. Go on, say my name." 

Tinsley also couldn't stop the slow smile spreading across his face. "Richard "Ricky" Goldsworth, I presume?" 

A smirk, in turn, graced Ricky's face. "Ah yes! Although, I'd rather you not use "Richard." It's so formal, and I think we're better off being informal." 

"Ricky it is then. Let's cut to the chase then. Why the hell have you brought me here?" 

Goldsworth's crooked smile gleamed even brighter. "Oh, I didn't expect you to be quite so _feisty!_ Well, just to ease your mind, I brought you here for something really quite simple. To give you a proposition!" 

Tinsley's half smile quickly distorted into something resembling a sneer. "Well I for one am  _not_ accepting your money. That's how you got Jean to give me the sleeping agent. Money. I cannot be corrupted so easily." 

"Yes, you are correct on that front. Payment was how I ensnared the bartender. But you aren't motivated by material gains. You're motivated by something _else_ , something much rarer than compensation." 

Tinsley hated himself for it, but he was intrigued. "And what is that, then?" 

"Well, you actually have two underlying motivations. One is _freedom_. You seem to yearn for more freedom to explore and grasp at different angles, and to be free of the miserable working conditions at the precinct. The other, and this is my favorite bit...power."

Ricky stopped, just for a brief moment. To antagonize Tinsley, no doubt.

"I've seen you react whenever you have even a sliver of power in any given situation. You get this sort of  _rush,_ don't you? It fills you with this _terrible_ sensation. That you could conquer mountains and disintegrate entire armies with a simple snap of the fingers. I bet you  _relish_ that feeling,  _cherish_ it even." 

"H-how do you know about that?" C.C. found it pointless to argue, since his foe would just refute his every argument. 

"How do I know about that, you ask? Well, again it's really quite simple. I feel it to. Every day I feel that insane rush of power with every wicked act. We share a kinship in that respect. I don't expect you to acknowledge that fact, but I have a feeling that you will one of these days."

Tinsley was speechless at his long-sought-after foe's words. Was he  _really_ being compared to the Al Capone of this generation? Jesus, this was an unexpected turn of events. 

"I can see you're shell shocked, Tin-Man. I understand." He rested a hand on Tinsley's shoulder, causing C.C. to flinch away from him involuntarily. "You decided to play this game when you knew I was fire, C.C. Don't pretend otherwise. It insults my intelligence." 

This time Tinsley did muster up the courage to speak. 

"You think I'm like you? Well, I'll humor you for just this one moment, then. The second you let me go, and I know you'll let me go, I will renew my hunt for you. I will strike up the chase with nothing but venom in my heart and adrenaline in my veins. And once I catch you, I'll savor the feeling of your warm blood on my hands and the adoration of my peers. So, really I have to  _thank you_ for reigniting the dying spark within me. Thank you Ricky, for you've already orchestrated your own downfall, here and now." 

Ricky's astonished look morphed into one of wicked satisfaction and excited energy. He even laughed aloud. 

"Oh Tinsley, you are  _my favorite!_ I knew I wouldn't regret dancing with you! On this brilliant note, I think it's time that I revealed to you the true nature of this abduction." Another abhorrent pause for dramatic effect. "I yearn for a partner, an heir to my throne of lies, a pupil to learn from my long foray into crime. And i would  _so_ like that person to be you, Tin-man." 

And just like that, Tinsley was back to being mute. 

"Well, alright. I'll let you think it over! I'll be in touch once you have your answer ready. And before you say it, yes I do think you will accept my offer." Tinsley raised one eyebrow in suspicion. "Hm. Anywho, guards! Take Tin-Man back to where he belongs. Be careful with him, he hasn't slept in seventy two hours now."

 

?

 

The last thing Tinsley remembered was being put to sleep by some very burly guards. When he woke up he found himself in his bed fully dressed still. Tinsley grumbled and sat up, feeling unusually well rested. He stole a peek at his wristwatch and almost had a heart attack. He had been asleep for a full day! 

_Shit, Shit!! How could i let this happen? Damn Ricky Goldsworth, making me miss work. I hope the cap understands and doesn't fire me._

Soon enough Tinsley was out the door and running for a cab, catching one by the skin of his teeth. The whole ride to the precinct his anxiety was a constant companion. His legs bounced up and down and he nervously tapped his fingers on the cab window. He really hoped the Captain wouldn't be too mad. 

"Aye, buddy. We're here. Ya gonna pay me or what?" 

"Yeah, just a tick." Tinsley reached for his wallet and found that he had an extra ten dollar bill.  _I thought I'd never see the day I'd be thanking Ricky Goldsworth._ C.C. handed the driver his ten and hopped out, almost tripping over himself in the process. It was a hot day, and the dry temperature made Tinsley's trademark trench coat cling to his form uncomfortably. Despite this, he soldiered on and entered his work place with a racing heart. 

 _"TINSLEY!_ Where the hell have you been? We've needed you here since yesterday! You didn't call in sick, no excused absence. Speak, goddammit!" The captain's face was red with anger, and his fists were balled up in obvious frustration. Tinsley cringed away from him, but still stood his ground. 

"I'm really very sorry, sir. I don't know what happened. I was working extremely late and I guess I forgot the time...I was exhausted and overworked and I just-"  

" _Overworked?!_ I barely  _even_ give you any work at all, you idiot! "Working late" is absolutely not an excuse! Work overtime tonight, into the A.M. I will not have laziness go unpunished in my work place. Get out of my sight, Tinsley." 

C.C. stared stupidly into the empty spot where the captain used to be in utter shock. He almost couldn't process what had been said to him. Now he had to work overtime for  _one_ single day missed of work when he had a spotless record otherwise? He hadn't missed a single day of work, not ever since he joined the police service. It was unfair to be punished so severely for a minor offence. And a first offense as well!  Oh, that fucking tears it. 

But Tinsley did go to work that day. He did paper work and analyzed autopsy reports like a good dog. He didn't even take a doughnut from the community snack box that day. His squashed ego wouldn't let him enjoy himself for even a moment. Why couldn't he just enjoy this one day where he was well rested and actually not on the brink of a power nap? He should have worked more efficiently on more hours of sleep, but instead all he felt was quiet, subdued rage. It built in him like heat in an oven, rising like Icarus to the sun. It was always the lesser men's fault, never the management's. What Tinsley wouldn't give to be the one with the power for a change, to be the one with the strength and the dominance over others. C.C. Tinsley would like to be the one _commanding_ armies, not the one being commanded. Instead of being  _in_ danger, he would  _be_ the danger.  _The one who knocks._

And conveniently, someone was offering that to Tinsley just last night. 

 _Perfect._  


End file.
